Words, values and identities explored

A Different Spin on ‘Bounce’ (1/3): Gift or Graft?

We’ve been here before with Bounce. Joan Freeman‘s book, Gifted Lives, is a delightful perspective on the same issue as Matthew Syed explored: she followed 210 gifted and/or talented people closely over many decades, publishing her data as she went, but here she focuses in detail on twenty representative lives. One of the great values of the book is that these life stories are supported by a good knowledge of the baseline background data and of the findings generated by strong research.

Freeman couldn’t have chosen a more compelling story to draw me in than the life and death of Rachel Wallace. Her mother’s reaction to Rachel’s giftedness warped her life and it was only in its closing months, after her diagnosis of cancer at the age of 38, that she found peace in a deep spirituality that seemed miles away from the field of mathematics that had been the arena of all her triumphs and disasters (page 42):

Spiritual intelligence means being open to a kaleidoscope of ways of knowing which blur distinctions between the physical and psychic worlds. Truly spiritual people, as Rachel had become, have special abilities to meditate and visualise different ways of being while tapping their own inner knowledge. Her spiritual gifts meant she had an awareness of unity between herself and others, feeling herself part of the human community and the cosmos.

Not surprisingly, her ‘awareness of unity‘ resonated strongly with me because of its central place in the Bahá’í vision of the world.

Freeman draws a distinction between gifts and talents (page 6):

. . . I’ve used the word ‘gifted’ to mean outstandingly high mental ability and ‘talented’ to mean outstandingly high artistic ability, though the two overlap.

She unpacks some of the implications of what she means by ‘gifted,’ for example (page 14):

Gifted thinking is not just hard work, dealing with deep problems or being inspired by startling flashes of insight, it often means a big leap in mental efficiency, which means the gifted can do more with what they have. The gifted can keep competing ideas and interpretations active within working memory till they sort out a way of co-ordinating them.

Her preamble about it not being just hard work shows where her take on this all diverges from the basic thesis of Bounce. She has case studies in her book that she feels point in that direction fairly unequivocally – the story of Margaret Sweeting for instance (page 196):

After four years in that highly selective music school, it became clear to her teachers, as well as to Margaret, that her aspiring classmates had far more talent than her. All those years of dedicated practice had got her through the auditions; . . . . . Chetham’s had taken a chance giving her a place; but not all chances pay off. Her talent was looking a little threadbare.

Practice very definitely does not always make perfect, Freeman feels (page 204):

Margaret obviously had talent. . . . But her talent was not in the top bracket. . . . . In spite of those 10,000 hours of practice which are said to make latent ability into expertise, it was clear in Margaret’s case it did not lead her to a life as a famous pianist.

Syed of course does not claim that it is practice and only practice that makes perfect. Other factors need to be added to the mix such as mindset and the quality of practice, the latter creating the ability to hold in mind a massive aggregate of data as though it were one single chunk. I’ve explored all these ideas in previousposts.

Great Hall, Clare College, Cambridge

It is not in this debate, though, that the main interest of this book lies for me.

First of all, it is in the many different challenges that being gifted or talented throws up for people, often from a very young age. Among the factors which these life stories illuminate are the attitudes of parents who see their child as gifted and don’t cope well with that idea, the response of the educational system to giftedness and how schools tend to exploit it to boost their ratings at the expense of the child’s emotional and social development, how moral awareness and giftedness do or do not relate, and the way that gifted women can be denied recognition in a most damaging way particularly if their gifts, as far as peers and teachers are concerned, lie where women are not supposed to shine, i.e. in the sciences or mathematics,.

Secondly it’s in the resonances the book evokes of experiences in my own life, not though in the sense of being particularly gifted. It’s in terms of being whisked at the age of 18 out of an ordinary environment in the north west of England to Clare College and the heady and elitist milieu of Cambridge University in the early 60s, a dislocation of the kind which many of the people in this book experienced and found very hard to handle, as did I. Or in terms of teaching in a stiffly traditional grammar school in Tottenham in the mid-60s and seeing how creativity was stifled and rule-driven conformity was rewarded even in English Literature, not a topic that should be used to clone minds into the same patterns, again an issue for many in this book.

There is so much to say that it will not easily fit into the tight framework of a thousand word post (nothing new there, then, for me) so I’m going to have to spill over into at least one more. I may not be able to keep the threads of the different challenges separate from my own experiences either and may need to move freely between them if there is any hope of doing the complexity of my responses to this intriguing book some kind of justice.

So, next time I’ll pick up on the education theme and see where it takes me.

Your blog is like a labyrinth, or maybe, more accurately, a multidimensional spiral. You meander in ever-expanding circles, returning repeatedly to the same subjects and themes, but with new insight and understanding — thus expanding and deepening each upward growing circle upon your return. While narrowing it at the same time by zeroing in on crucial aspects of those new insights.

It doesn’t make sense in Euclidean space, but in soul-space it totally does.

This shape of your blog likely reflecteth the shape of your life, methinks.

I have always resonated to the idea of a spiral, going over and over the same ground again and again at different levels. In a way I do live my whole life like that. The recently re-published poem ‘Not Dead though Buried‘ captures part of it.

And that’s indeed your developmental trajectory, it seems, marked by the workings of (what Dabrowski called) partial death instinct that helps dismantle, more or less steadily, with occasional stronger quakes along the way, the old parts of your character to make room for continuous new growth.

The “buried” part, I’m not sure what it means exactly, but it seems to me to be a reference to your close and early familiarity with death, which is an integral part of your character and an impetus to your development.

If I may be so impertinent as to presume to know such things.

It is fascinating how it comes across in the structure of your blog — I don’t suppose you planned it this way?

Plan? What plan? The only time ever really had a plan that I stuck to was when I did my psychology degree. Otherwise I tend to move from project to project intuitively and only looking back do I see a pattern – sometimes!

Wow! You don’t ask difficult questions, do you? Is there only one part? Is it really dead? The poem says I left ‘selves for dead,’ which doesn’t necessarily mean ‘dead.’ My poems usually mean more than I understand at the time – or ever possibly. Only one dead self really comes to mind, and that’s the carapace, or was it the chrysalis, that gave me the illusion of safety for about thirty years. At least I think it died.

The buried selves are like seeds or maybe autumn leaves. One such, and there may be many, is the boy in the operating theatre, obviously. Another is the brother to a sister he never knew. When I was walking to town earlier to day, I could hear all the thousands of dry leaves scuttering in the wind, catching on each other and on the tarmac of the path. That’s bit like the sound all the old selves make at the back of our minds: hard to tune into, harder to interpret – till the right time comes, of course.

I have many thoughts on this subject especially, Pete, as it has been a large part of my life’s work and vocation; but sharing them would result in another ranty essay-like comment (or four), so it’s probably best I pipe down. Will have to sit on my hands and force-practice deep breathing.

I have to ask this, though: What were you doing at a cemetery and was it your first job?

. . . . that was not the whole of it. I was walking home through a thunderstorm across the fields, taking care to steer clear of the trees for obvious reasons, when less than a mile away, unknown to me at the time this happened: ‘John White [a Spurs footballer] was killed by a lightning strike at the age of 27 while sheltering under a tree during a thunderstorm at Crews Hill golf course, Enfield, in July 1964.’

You did not know, by any chance, John White? Or Spurs footballers (whatever they are — I can vaguely guess)?

Hereby I would like it to be noted that I am refraining from making a caustic observation about footballers and the wisdom of sheltering under trees during thunderstorms (thus evidencing my growing self-restraint, in addition to my equally impressive compassion; and, oh, also humility — let’s not forget my outstanding humility).

In July 1964, I was three months old and wondering what it was that I got myself into. Sort of.

Seriously, though, my first articulable memories come from a few months after, around the time of teething and are indeed of such wonderings.

“Secondly it’s in the resonances the book evokes of experiences in my own life, not though in the sense of being particularly gifted.”

Do you talk more about it on blog, Pete? You were/are gifted. Obviously.

I agree that practice is noble and much desired; but practice alone will not replace / instill giftedness (and talent), which is a real and inborn thing that can be observed early on in life, often already in infancy (giftedness, that is; specific talents grow from it and other factors later).

It is that spark of overexcitability, for one, that makes these children more alert and in tune with their environment, seeking stimulation and learning from their earliest days, and developing faster — often dramatically so — than their peers. It is easily observable.

Assorted talents grow from that and from specific innate abilities, and, again, can be seen very early in development. They manifest in a child’s specific predilections and interests that sometimes tend to be very intense and even overwhelming (even more so for the parents). These children are driven by what some call “a rage to master” their skills and talent domains. It is true; though I am not fond of the term “rage,” because of its negative connotations — passion is better.

Then there are gifted kids whose talents are not immediately apparent and/or appreciated — the spiritually gifted come to mind, for example. Invariably, they are introverted and appear self-contained, seemingly not needing or outwardly seeking stimulation; but their learning, intuition-based processes are also accelerated, definitely non-linear, and taking them places that average people generally don’t visit or like.

What gifted kids do with their inborn talents is ‘nother story.

This is where the capacity to practice and persevere becomes so important; and at the same time, the disintegrative influences of their overexcitabilities, which are as much an asset as they can be a liability, become more apparent, since they interfere with, for example, attention and organizational skills, making focused practice a real challenge. This challenge is much worth overcoming, as it would result in outstanding achievement; but, the way I see it as I’m getting older, the reasons for not overcoming it can also be developmentally meaningful and valuable, especially from the perspective of time. Outward achievement is not everything (and this is an understatement).

Long rant short, no amount of practice will substitute an inborn talent (if that were the case, I’d be a very gifted pianist, as I loved practicing; and I’m most decidedly not one). But an inborn talent without development, which includes practice, may remain stunted.

Does this make sense / contribute in any way to your thinking on the matter? (No rush.)

As always, Emma, your insights, coming as they do both from you reflective experience and from your deep understanding of the Dabrowski model, don’t just resonate with me in terms of similarity, though that is sometimes true, but also confront my understanding with different and immensely fruitful possibilities to explore.

I am still working through in my own mind, amongst many other things, what the balance is between innate gift and dedicated graft.

The problem, as I remember it from writing this sequence, is that believing that excellence in a skill is in some respects innate can result in the ‘fixed’ mindset approach which makes mistakes feel aversive and practice seem unnecessary. If you make mistakes and need practice you can’t be gifted! The truth of it may be, in part, that gift and graft have to reinforce each other, but to believe only in the gift may discourage the graft if excellence does not come quickly.

Yes, that’s Carol Dweck’s approach, teaching us that it is best to focus on the process of learning, rather than ability and achievement as such, as it is more fruitful and rewarding, and helps us avoid the pitfalls of perfectionism and arrogance. When / if possible.

There is much in this that I will need to come back to but for now, one question!

You write: ‘This challenge is much worth overcoming, as it would result in outstanding achievement; but, the way I see it as I’m getting older, the reasons for not overcoming it can also be developmentally meaningful and valuable, especially from the perspective of time. Outward achievement is not everything (and this is an understatement).’

While I completely accept that ‘outward achievement’ is not everything, and in fact might be a temptation to sell out, what do feel about the issue of feeling you have fallen short of your gifts? I can see this as a source of gnawing guilt. (Would such guilt be a positive driver or a disabling block?) By this I do not mean that you will be wracked with pangs of disappointment with yourself because you didn’t become famous, but more the sense that there is much more you could have done to realise your gifts, to give full expression to your true Self, to make the most of your life before you die. Failure to practice might then become a path towards a betrayal of Self.

There is no hurry, Emma. I feel the issues we are discussing will take many exchanges to explore and we need to take whatever time that needs. I’m Entish in any case in terms of my affinity with trees and my natural pace of doing things, so waiting is no problem. 🙂

Alright then, Pete. Yes, I had to look up Entish — thank you — to know what it means (still not sure I do, but it’s ok). Life is short, though, so waiting too long may be, well, too long.

Which brings me to something I wanted to say earlier, about your “Not Dead Though Buried” poem (and not only).

I asked you about what’s buried and you replied about what’s dead. But they are not the same, and especially not in your poem, so that struck me as telling something, but I did not know what — in any case, your reply was not about what I asked, though maybe it was, in a way (and that totally makes sense to you now, I’m sure ).

It seems to me that the buried part is your Self. You are in the ongoing process of its excavation — thus your poetry, your psychology work, your faith, and your blog, and now the recent coming together of the threads on trauma, transliminality, and transcendence.

Your Self is crystallizing and un-burying itself, for some reason with growing intensity lately.

It was also your Self, is my guess, that was awaiting behind the gate in one of your poems (my first impertinent question to you here was about it, if I recall).

You know I don’t mean the self in the American meaning of the word, as in self-actualized and highly self-esteemed glorious entity to present to the adoring world, but as your deepest, truest, and most intimate expression of your connection with the God-thing, your spiritual essence.

You use Self in the same way I do, and it’s not the same as self, so there was no risk I’d misunderstand you. As I’m working on my transliminality sequences of posts I’m working my way towards disentangling the different threads of various approaches to the ‘What is my Self?’ question in so far as it relates to the subliminal or possibly the extrasensory – they may not be the same thing. I doubt whether I’ll do better than Assagioli’s model but every time I travel this road it feels like I get a bit closer. So, I guess you might be right – finding my true Self maybe what this excavation’s all about.

There’s a group of words that gets triggered every time I come near the topic — words like creativity, compassion, the subliminal, interconnectedness, transcendence, pure consciousness and a few others. Once discovered the true self will pull all those together.

“what do feel about the issue of feeling you have fallen short of your gifts? I can see this as a source of gnawing guilt.”

Yes, indeed! Which is another reason why and how guilt becomes a vehicle for advanced development. This is how positive disintegration happens.

There comes a point in life when the values that define our Self crystalize (more or less) and burst forth with unmistakable clarity in our minds (souls). The force of that insight marks the line between what is/was in ourselves and what ought to be — and we become (or actively strive to) the latter.

See this Rilke’s poem, “The Archaic Torso of Apollo:”
====

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

====

There are so many layers to this poem, it takes my breath away. With poetry, as in life, we often don’t understand what we write and why — the deeper meanings of our words, just like our true Selves, are often clearer to the readers than ourselves. This is the case here, I believe, and I could spend the next hour, which neither you nor I have, picking this poem apart and showing it so. I won’t, but just see how his desire to change his life springs from the recognition of the light hidden in the sculpted, headless body.

The conflict between the sensual (body) and yearned for but never fully understood or realized spiritual (the headlessness, and the blindness and lack of control it signifies) is what defined Rilke’s life and shaped creativity. He was chronically disintegrated, as is usually the case with creative individuals, and / but (?) could not ever admit his guilt (over hurting others in his life, for one).

His desire for inner transformation is what suffuses his poetry, but he was incapable of it precisely because he was incapable of fully experiencing guilt. It gnawed at him, though, dimly and sometimes less so, keeping him restless and unhappy, but also propelling him to seek and write.

He had a sense that there were more gifts within him, and more important things he should be doing — for other people and the world — but his sensuous nature, his opportunism, and his narcissism (which truncated his sense of guilt), made it impossible for him to transform himself into that sensed and desired Self. This was one — and probably the largest — source of his ongoing inner conflicts.

If his capacity for guilt was stronger, he could have become a humanitarian, instead of or in addition to being a poet.

Such “ifs” are idle speculations, though, and probably offensive to fate and/or God thing, which gives us the right measure of what we need to accomplish what we must / should on Earth. Most likely Rilke’s fate was to write as he did, so that humanity could grow from the very lessons of his poetry and life.

I have not read anything by Joan Freeman until now, Pete, although I have heard/seen her name before. I’ve looked up her chapter on Rachel Wallace.

What else resonated for you in her case? Because I suspect, though maybe wrongly, that it was not just her awareness of unity, which you mention in your post.

I like Freeman. I see how much her approach to the gifted varies from that of my fellow Americans. She touches upon it in that chapter, too.

I don’t believe, however, that she is entirely correct attributing Rachel’s troubles and anguish, and those of gifted individuals in general, just to inappropriate responses from her/their environment, particularly from her/their parents.

These kids (and then adults) are intense and challenging to parent. And given that their parents are usually also gifted and intense, the seeming mismatch between child and parent is magnified.

But from the perspective of emotional, and especially spiritual, development, that mismatch is often indeed only seeming — because it is actually necessary and purposeful, in strange ways (that matter most).

This is where Dabrowski’s work helps again, especially his findings and thoughts on OE and their role in development.

I have many thoughts on this and on Rachel (and Freeman), but one I would like to share with you, because I must, is (again) on the importance of guilt as an indispensable factor of and vehicle for advanced emotional development and spiritual growth.

This is so well — though accidentally and only in passing — illustrated by Freeman when she talks about Rachel’s transformation on page 19. She says that as Rachel’s Christianity deepened, her life-long guilt and feelings of unworthiness and fear of punishment rolled away. Freeman sees this as getting rid of something bad — a symptom, problem introduced by lousy parenting. But it is more than that, even though it is that too.

That guilt is necessary. It is what transforms those who are “doomed to develop,” as Dabrowski called it; without it, any character changes are going to be partial and maybe only temporary — and that’s not a bad thing. But whenever we encounter such a profound self-transcendent character transformation — through global positive disintegration, in TPD terms — there is nearly always a sea of guilt behind it, whether conscious or not.

The guilt-laden period preceding the transformation is “the dark night of the soul” during which its germination takes place. It is clarifying, purging, and dismantling (not necessarily in this order) what’s “not me” anymore — the small, egocentric “me” — and preparing the ground for the emergence of our authentic self, the one rooted in unity, compassion, and loving-kindness of all creation (to borrow some uncomfortable bombast for the occasion).

Without that messy and painful period of descending into darkness to purge and clarify, thanks to guilt (and maybe a bit of shame, in the beginning), this growth would not be possible.

To outside observers, it often looks like pathology, but it is not, not really, even though it may last a very long time. But we do not fully understand its role until the process is completed and/or a life is over.

Oof, I think I’m done for the day. Yes, I hear that sigh of relief.

I do hope it makes some sense to you, although maybe not; in which case my need to share it with you is just embarrassing, I suppose.

I realise I read you comment too quickly. I’m not sure I resonated to much more in Rachel’s perspective than my post mentioned. I thought you might have meant me to spell out more about what was testing at Cambridge. Basically, it wasn’t just the elitism, though that was difficult. It was several weeks before I found three people with anything like a similar outlook who rapidly became friends.

It was also the assumptions about how I was supposed to study. I’d not come from a school where, for example, ‘prep’ was a routine that almost all followed. I was used to being set tasks in a clear framework, with clear deadlines and purposes. The seminar system set me tasks I wasn’t sure I understood completely, I wasn’t clear how much time they should take, nor how exactly I should go about them. Feedback was opaque. I had no real idea what a tutor meant when he described one piece of work on Bunyan as too ‘belle lettrist,’ and another piece, heaven knows what about, as having ‘real pressure behind the prose.’ They both looked the same to me!

Your thoughts on the positive dynamics of guilt resonate strongly with me. Shame, I feel, is almost certainly not an emotion to trust. Shame cultures are generally quite destructive. But guilt is different. What you say seems exactly right: ‘It is clarifying, purging, and dismantling (not necessarily in this order) what’s “not me” anymore — the small, egocentric “me” — and preparing the ground for the emergence of our authentic self, the one rooted in unity, compassion, and loving-kindness of all creation (to borrow some uncomfortable bombast for the occasion).’

How do you feel guilt is acquired, if that is the right word? ‘Abdu’l-Bahá writes that conscience is not innate but acquired. That’s why early experiences are so important. I can see how people might be born with different degrees of sensitivity, and I know that children do seem to have an innate sense of fairness, and possibly of some aspects of right and wrong (the ‘oughts’ and ‘ought nots’). I’d be interested to hear yours and/or Dabrowski’s take on this.

You may have given hints of this elsewhere that I have missed. I have only just finished pulling all our comments into one file, currently running at 60 pages.

I’m not sure, for example, of the exact implications of ‘Guilt is absolutely essential to emotional development — unfortunately, we have not only pathologized it, but we have raised generations of almost “genetically modified” offspring who are incapable of experiencing it. And those few who still are capable, are told to get rid of this inner anachronism.’

Your idea that ‘narcissists and psychopaths are incapable of it’ implies that some people at least are born with no innate capacity, but that might mean simply they cannot acquire it because the emotional wiring of their brains does not permit the conditioning that leads to guilt, rather than that they are not born with a ‘guilt system’ in the same way as we are born with an innate language system. Your statement ‘we must assess the presence of guilt (or capacity for it)’ leaves that question open. Similarly ‘the developmental impetus embedded in those two dynamisms’ begs the innate or acquired question.

Absolutely fascinating issues. I am so grateful to you for raising them, Emma.

Sorry for the delay. I now have a temporary (till the end of the year) job that takes me away from home for 13 hours a day (5 of which are the commute, aaargh! but the job is so good it is worth it) and when I get home, I’m too exhausted to think, much less write.

You ask:

“How do you feel guilt is acquired, if that is the right word?”

Ha, good question. It is part of our standard emotional equipment, I believe, which gives rise to our conscience.

It arises on the basis of empathy, mainly. When we hurt another person, guilt is the right response, along with a desire for reparation — making the person feel better and repair what we injured. Not doing so will leave our guilt activated and make us feel bad.

Guilt, along with empathy, is the vital thread connecting us with humanity, the world, and our true (transcendent) self. Or Self perhaps. Also, with the God thing, which stores our Selves and is the repository of our highest aspirations and values, the realm of the transcendent — what ought to be — which we sense and strive to attain.

But guilt arises not only in social situations when we wrong another. It is the main fuel of our conscience, which is an internal barometer of our faithfulness to the highest human values embedded in our Self and that God thing.

Even if we do not transgress against another, but “just” against those values, and even if only we know of the transgression, we will (as we should) be disturbed by it and in need of repairing the transgression, and thus restoring our Self and its connection to the God-thing.

As such, guilt is obviously not only healthy, but necessary for advanced development.

The most dramatic, and fullest, and most authentic, cases of personal transformation through positive disintegration have a very strong guilt component. The journey to the underworld of our psyche and the subsequent return of the transformed and transcendent Self to the God thing are more often than not fueled by guilt, I’d say.

There is no authentic growth without it. You can see this in narcissists, for example. Their existence is distinctly shallow precisely because of the absence of guilt, even though they can preach “spiritual wisdom” like no others sometimes. But their guilt impairment comes out in their actions, which are at odds with their sermons. (One big reason why I am supremely distrustful of spiritual leaders and gurus.) Feel good spirituality — i.e., spirituality without guilt — is shallow and inauthentic.

This is so Catholic, isn’t it. But herein lies the spiritual genius of Catholicism — in its stress on the importance of guilt. We are prone to sin and keeping this in mind at all times, and taking inner measures to prevent sin and make genuine restoration efforts after we commit it, are necessary for Self work. That’s how inner growth happens. Guilt is the crack (or one of them — shame is another, though narrower and shallower) through which the light gets in, as Leonard Cohen sang.

Healthy people are born with the guilt system which should be properly maintained throughout our lifetimes. Those without it are psychopaths and narcissists.

And yes, it can be shut down and/or marginalized by upbringing and culture. Americans especially are aversive to guilt and have made it a sin. The consequences of this are multiple and grave. Trump/ism is one of them, for instance. People who cannot see and admit their guilt are enslaved by the compulsion to repeat and deepen their mistakes, and destroy anything that may remind them of them/it. Repeated wars (invasions of other countries), for example, of the kind in which America excels, can be seen as attempts at denial of guilt. As long as America maintains its false image of a benevolent, guiltless force, it will continue its destructive imperialist march through the world.

Now, though, with the Agent of Darkness at America’s helm, this march may lead to a head on confrontation with our shadow, which, ideally, would force the issue of guilt into our consciousness. But the latter probably won’t happen. We’d rather blindly destroy than admit our responsibility and make reparation efforts, at home and outside of it.

I resonate to the guilt/empathy relationship. I know we’re most of us wired for empathy, both cognitive and emotional, which I can see implies we might be wired for guilt. I am still seeing guilt as like language. We have an innate language system but we need to be exposed to language for it to kick in and enable speech etc.

There is also a critical period for language if it is to be learned by the most appropriate brain system. If we learn a language after this critical period it is a different part of the brain. There will be sounds we cannot learn to hear and our facility will probably be less. The ‘r’ deafness for example in some language speakers that leads to the substitution of an ‘l’. We have a similar deafness to a sound in Arabic I understand. If guilt works the same way it will be deficient if it is not learned early. Would that make sense?

I shall get round to tackling your other responses as I dodge between commitments this coming week. Too many meetings.

Yes, that’s some schedule, alright. Although, you know, the schedule itself is not that bad, it is just the travel that’s so exhausting (and dispiriting). It is only an hour drive from my home, but the traffic from my town to Chicago (where this temporary job is) is brutal. I spend an hour and a half each way stuck on the highway, in the stream of barely moving cars. I will probably relocate to my mom for the duration of this work — she lives closer (though not that close). The downside: she has no internet. Oy.

You make an interesting point about the language of guilt, and, larger, the language of emotions, which we are not very well versed in these days. In fact, I’d say we are losing it, with multiple negative consequences to our individual and collective lives. I have a post in mind that breaches this topic, that of our mostly acquired blindness and deafness to our emotions, guilt especially.

Yes, I believe you’re right — if we don’t fully learn this language, we don’t know it well or at all. Some, like “inborn” psychopaths, are congenitally incapable of learning it; others have great difficulty learning; and a few are gifted in that they seem to have come with the ability to understand and brilliantly express it (and use it in development) from their earliest days.

Most of us have the inborn capacity, but need education and practice to become fluent “speakers.”

I can imagine how frustrating the journey must be. Driving is my least favourite way of travelling. It requires a level of concentration that makes deep conversation or even deep thought impossible. Trains are the best. I can move around, get a coffee, and most of all I can read and talk and write.